| Part 3 Brad Crawford was ushered into the small warehouse by a man calling himself �Vinnie.� The man was in his late 40�s and seemed to be trying to re-capture the 70�s, judging on the clothing he was wearing. As Crawford was pushed through the door, an arm around his shoulder, he desperately tried to pull down the shirt he was wearing� if you could call it a shirt that was. Less than a week ago, he�d been singing in the choir at his old university; it seemed they had needed a replacement solo act for the big finale they were organizing and thought he was best suited from his many years at doing so. Even though he�d left the university almost a year ago, he was still daunted by it. In all that time, he hadn�t found any work in his specialty and had been helping out the teachers and students with their courses. The choir he had been in previously had needed him, and luckily or not so luckily for him he�d been spotted by some talent scout needing an extra member for his band, �The Screamers�; the pay was good, and so he had agreed. However, at the time he didn�t realize he�d have to wear such a small amount of clothing. The doors swung back and he was greeted by a wailing scream that made his ears hurt, a screech of a guitar followed the poor sounding voice and as they walked through the curtains he got a look at his new band. His mouth dropped and he suddenly realized he was in hell. Shrugging the almost groping hand off of his shoulder, he tugged at his shirt again, eyes squinting under the flare of lights as he watched the band which consisted solely of males with long blond hair, and even less clothing with about as much talent as a dead fish. He was about to turn round and hand in his notice when he caught a more somber *in tune* breeze of a voice under the screeching of the others. He realized they weren�t �the screamers� for nothing. The yells and out of tune guitars� bellow continued and he had to physically stop himself from covering his ears. He was delighted when the soft cool voice he heard earlier came into play more, as a resounding bang of drums started in tune to the song. Realizing for the first time there was a drummer, he moved around and squinted into the darker areas of the stage, looking and finding a black and silver drum kit and only seeing the gloved hands of the player. He was draped in that much shadow. Finally, the band noticed their manager and stopped playing, each member literally threw their instrument off of their shoulders, or side stepped them and ran off stage to greet �Vinnie.� Crawford was then called over and he forgot about the mysterious drummer as he was introduced. Straightaway from first glance, he realized the members were there for solely their beauty. From the conversation�well lack of conversation, and the greeted �Hey dude,� Crawford knew he would not enjoy his stay. Looking from member to member, he pondered on the thought that he�d be used to make the band sound bearable; apart from the drummer, none of them had much talent, let alone the ability to sing well together. They all looked the same. Early to late teenagers, with long blonde hair and blue eyes, more revealing clothes than he thought possible� nakedness was less obtrusive than what they had on. At a guess, he knew he was the eldest, also a complete contrast with his now shorter, dark blue/black hair and contacts; he�d been told to loose the glasses. He introduced himself as Crawford, earning himself some nicknames such as �Craw�. �Crabford.� And �dude�. /Over four years of learning law, getting a degree, and I have to put up with this/ He shook his head and wished he had brought a coat, it was chilly and he hated being looked at. He felt so out of place. Never had he worn such clothing, preferring a more comfortable suit or at least shirt and pants. He groaned inwardly and thanked the lord when Vinnie pulled the guys over to talk to them about some gig, he assumed he�d be informed later. The flashing lights had been turned off and now a warm glow filled the whole room lighting up the areas where shadow had once resigned. He decided to look around a little and turned from his current position to find himself just below the drum player. Walking up the steps to the stage, his feet moved him to just beside the man, who didn�t acknowledge his presence, instead he continued to polish the silver drumsticks in his hands before placing them inside his coat pocket. From his side view and now more closer, he noticed the spiky silver/white hair, thinking this person had been brought in for his talent like him. The coat touched the ground and kept everything hidden from view. The only flesh to be seen was his neck that had a leather choker and buckle, and the pierced ears. Bare arms showed faint pink scars that ran seemingly from his back. Feeling slightly stupid, he said his greetings. �Hello.� /Pretty lame/ he thought but shrugged. The boy stood straight and turned around and he found himself pinned by an amber gaze. Memories of the boy at the school flooded back to him. Looking quickly, he suddenly realized he was one and the same. /Jei/. The fiery, now single gaze pierced through him. An eye patch kept his other eye hidden. More scars adorned his face now than the single scarred lip and gave him a more sinister look. Crawford suddenly realized why the boy had been kept at the back, encased in shadows and was slightly outraged. To him the boy held more beauty than the blond idiots off stage, but because of how he looked, he was hidden away. Inwardly, he wondered what had happened to the boy in the course of the year to make him look how he did. Somehow he knew it wasn�t an act for the band. The boy watched him silently, the single golden eye blaring into him a deathly silence passed through them. �Move.� Again Crawford was brought back to the time in the school. Deja vu was such an unpleasant thing. �Hello, I�m the newest band member, Crawford.� He tried to start conversation, but was thwarted. �I figured�.� A pause. ��Now move� Crawford sighed, removing himself from the boy�s way and watched as he jumped off of the stage, grabbed a drink from the side, and left the area without a single goodbye. He walked down the steps and was greeted by one of his �new best friends� *ok so he was a little sarcastic and slightly ruffled from the encounter* �That�s Farferello, he�s a psycho, I�d stay out of his way, guy should be put in a mental home.� Crawford looked at the guy known as Calvein and glared a little, his gaze diverting to the next that spoke. �Uh huh, total whack job.� Sniggering followed. �He has this thing for knives, and ya know the eye patch is real, he�s such a freak, too ugly and quiet, only drummer we could get, I mean, pleasssssseeeeeeee� he�s like totally unworthy of our status.� Crawford knew then he would hate these guys. �Well, maybe he is a nice guy, and you haven�t taken the time to get to know him,� Crawford offered, and was silenced by the bark of laughter from the others, including Vinnie. �Look, Farferello is only here coz he can play. He�s an obsessive knife freak, and if he wasn�t here he�d be locked away.� More laughter followed and Crawford felt slightly repulsed. What would they think of him if he�d come in his usual attire? �I�m sure you�re wrong about him,� Crawford replied and made his way over to the door. �I�ll see you next practice,� he yelled out before the door slammed shut. Cursing he walked back to his apartment, his mind wondering about Jei, no, Farferello. What the hell had happened to him? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |